


Never Give Up (Nothing Comes Easy)

by Doralice



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Insecure Bucky Barnes, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mild Breathplay, Morning Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Nightmares, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam Wilson Feels, Sam Wilson is a Gift, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24205168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doralice/pseuds/Doralice
Summary: Sam grabs his bionic wrist.He’s always there for Bucky.He rarely talks to him about what goes through his battered mind, but Sam is there to cash in on the consequences.That’s how it started: with nightmares and hands on the jugular.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Kudos: 38





	Never Give Up (Nothing Comes Easy)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Never Give Up (Nothing Comes Easy)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181327) by [Doralice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doralice/pseuds/Doralice). 



> Please, note that english is not my first language: this is my first attempt to translate a story and I don't have a beta.  
> I hope I didn't screw up!

– You’ll never have a normal life with me. –

Sometimes nights are like this. A slow succession of hours dripping on each other, dense and sticky of thoughts, until reaching dawn. Until the first rays of the sun filter through the folds of the curtains, warming those thoughts one by one, and making them emerge in the still air.

– Oh, no. You’re going to ruin my long terms plans. – Sam narrows his eyes and turns his head on the pillow, his voice still slur with sleep – I joined the Avengers to have a boring mid-class life. –

Bucky doesn't laugh. He does it rarely, it won't be Sam’s mild morning sarcasm to tear that sound from his throat. But his lips are slightly stretched with a sad smile, and Sam knows that smile.

– You're more mid-class than you think. – mumbles Bucky, rubbing his stubbled chin against his forearm – Samuel Thomas Wilson. –

Sam turns over on his side and folds his arm under his head, looking at him defiantly.

– Yeah, you know all my deepest secret. –

Bucky wiggles his eyebrows: – You’re sleeping with a spy, sugar. –

And Sam has to choke a laugh. Bucky’s smile is hide behind his arm, only his eyes to show his fun. Sam is relieved that somehow the atmosphere has lightened: he never knows how long these moments will last. He never knows how to bring him back here and now, how to bring him back to himself. But somehow he always does it. It’s not some special skill: they are still learning. Sam is learning to read him, Bucky is learning to be read.

– Well, _ Humphrey Bogart_, you need a hair cut. -

Sam reaches out to his forehead, slowly, watching him attentively. The Winter Soldier is always there, just hiddend under Bucky's skin, and he never drops his guard. Sam pushes a strand from his face and sinks his fingers into the untidy hair. Bucky's face relaxes, his eyelids close. He looks like a big, tired guard dog.

– Mmh... no. – he replies lazily.

Sam massages his scalp.

– Yep. –

– Nope. –

Sam turns the locks between his fingers and pull a little, just a little.

– _Yes_. – he insists bending over him.

Bucky moves fast: he grabs him firmly and Sam has just the time to swear that he finds himself astride him. He remains motionless while Bucky's hands go up his abs in a slow caress, open on the pectorals, run along the shoulders, and finally meet on his neck. Sam raises his chin to make room for his grip, and then sighs, looking at him through parted lashes.

– If I cut them you won't be able to pull them anymore. –

Pictures and memories overlap in Sam’s mind. He think back to all the times he did it to him, every times Bucky hissed back in pleasure. The night before he gained a spank for his impertinence.

– Yeah, I think I could survive, you know. –

He was lying. And bad.

Bucky pull him from the neck and Sam gets be dragged down. Their mouths collide, open and messy. There's nothing studied in that kiss and it’s surprising how things have evolved between them in those few months. They are still taking measures, in some ways. For others, it's a bit like being lead away into a vortex and being able to do nothing but let it be.

Bucky toungue slides over his his bottom lip, then he pulls it between his teeth and Sam thinks about their first kiss. To that disastrous yet so, _so_ sweet kiss. He thinks back of Bucky's scared child gaze and his own heart beating madly in his rib cage. He thinks back about two soldiers with butterflies in their stomachs.

Sam pull his mouth away from Bucky's, only to trace a trail of bites from his chin to the jaw and then down the neck. Bucky whispers something that is lost between their sighs, his hand of flesh and blood slides down and closes around their erections. The other hand, the bionic one, is still on Sam's neck.

Neither of them had ever been with a man before. Sam has long been aware about his bisexuality, but Bucky – well, to find out that he’s in to men too, that was a surprise for both of them. In addition to all the rest, they also had to deal with this. It wasn't easy – _nothing_ is ever easy with Bucky. To get where they are now, it took a lot of patience.

Sam’s hand entwines with Bucky's and they move them together, sliding over their erections. He feels Bucky turns his head, so he turns around too, meeting his lips to kiss him again.

He always take a step out to him, Sam. He can play macho all the time and pretend that Bucky is a pain the ass, but he will always takeo that step for him. On the other hand, neither of them expects anything different. Neither of them can show affection in a different way. Maybe one day they will be able to go further, they will learn to share affection spontaneously, without having to conceal the love behind irony or lust.

Sam will learn to put a plaid over Bucky’s shoulder while he’s watching TV on the sofa, without meanwhile insulting his “stupid thawed brain”. Bucky will learn to kiss him when he wants, for the pure desire to do it, without pretending to be annoyed or having to lead into foreplay.

Because not everything is about sex, even while they are doing it. Even now, rubbing slowly against each other, without a real coordination with the movements of their hands. It’s a lazy, languid rhythm that goes nowhere, that does not want to achieve anything more than this – being together, moaning softly on each other's mouth.

Sometimes this is enough. Sometimes with Bucky it’s like being on the slopes of a mountain so hight that the top is not in sight, other times it’s as simple as lying on a lawn. This time it's a lawn, more and more often it is – but sometimes it's still a mountain.

Sam sinks his free hand into Bucky’s hair and pulls. Maybe it will be the last time, so why not? Bucky shows his teeth and throws his head back, exposing his neck to Sam’s mouth. Leaving a hikey on the pale skin and contemplating the result with satisfaction, is practically a must.

– Mmh... much better. –

Bucky tightens his grip. On theirs erections, on Sam’s neck, on the _soul_. Because the two of them can't say certain things out loud, so they invented their own language. They don't know how to say “I love you”, so they say something else. They invent periphrasis, puns and other bullshit. But behind them there are those three words – there are always those words.

Sam moves his lips to his ear: – _Mine_. –

It sounds like a challenge and Bucky takes it in the right spirit: a shift of his hips and the positions are inverted. Now Sam is under him and Bucky’s staring at him with fascinated eyes, his bionic hand squeezed around Sam’s neck almost to the limit. Sam’s still breathing – better to say he’s _panting_ , given the situation – but they both know what that hand is capable. They both know that if Bucky pointed a loaded gun at his head it would the be same. Except for the fact that in their case _Bucky is the gun_.

Bucky is the weapon. And every time Sam sees it: behind Winter Soldier’s poker face, the amazement that borders on unbelief. Hell, he himself has to get used to the idea. This unconditional trust that manages to keep him calm even with a vibranium grip over his pulse. That manages to make him stand next to a human weapon, with a fragmented past and an uncertain future. That manages to make Sam trust him, always, between the sheets as well in battle.

So confident on the battlefield, and yet when it came to them Bucky is always so insecure. But Sam knows for sure that rushing things would be a bad idea. They don't have any rush right now, moving against each other and contemplating what they are. For Bucky this is enough, for now. He has already given vent to his super stamina the night before, morning sex is just a bonus, a pleasant digression before breakfast. But above all, it’s a way to drive away the veil of anguish left by the night. Sam knows that this isn’t the solution, they both know, but for now Bucky needs this and Sam is there.

Sam grabs his bionic wrist. He’s always there for Bucky. He rarely talks to him about what goes through his battered mind, but Sam is there to cash in on the consequences. That’s how it started: with nightmares and hands on the jugular.

Nightmares have been a constant on Sam's nights long before they became a couple – or whatever they are. One night he woke up with a start: a vibranium hand closed around his neck, immovable and deadly cold, and the rest of Bucky trembling above him. Sam is somewhat familiar with post-traumatic syndrome seizures, so he managed to remain calm despite everything.

– You soothe me. – Bucky told him the next morning.

No preamble. He seemed almost pissed by the admission.

Sam had taken a sip of coffee and cleared his throat: – Well, I’ve get weirder compliment. –

The shadow of a smile and they never talked about it again.

From that morning to this one, many others have passed. Many other monsters under the bed have been defeated and others over the bed soothed. Secretly, because old soldiers with bionic arms don't want to be seen crying. And later, during breakfast, they like scrambled eggs seasoned with a splash of fondness in the eggs. So one morning at a time, a caress today and another tomorrow, the monsters are tamed and they even manage to accept love. In their own way, of course.

In his own way, Bucky knows how to be tender. Even while holding Sam down and almost chocking him. Sam lets him do it and it's not a surprise that he comes first, arching himself on the bed. The squeeze on his neck does not loosen, but he feels the metal thumb sliding on his chin and up his bottom lip, slipping between the teeth. Sam stares into Bucky's eyes as he bites the vibranium and gasps hard between the waves of pleasure.

He finally collapses, shaking and sated. Only then does the grip relax, become a caress. Bucky's expression softens slightly as he stares at him.

– You are a mess. – he says, and Sam just want to record his velvet voice and listen to it forever.

Maybe he could tell him. He certainly would like to, Sam. But that's not how it works between them, not yet. Maybe one day.

Instead, he raises an eyebrow and gathers his breath: – Your fault. –

Bucky gets out of bed, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk. Sam looks at him openly. The times when there were modesties between them are long gone, he will always take the opportunity to admire him naked.

– You didn’t come. –

– Get in the shower. – Bucky walks out the room heading to the bathroom – Don't make me wait, _soldier_. –

– I’m warrant officer, _sergeant_. – he replied sitting up.

Bucky peeks out from behind the door: – I'm a war veteran, _son_. –

And so on – it’s a well known dynamics between them. This ethernal skirmish to vent a mutual feeling that they are still too awkward to express.

Sam rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he follows Bucky. He’s smiling as he opens the shower door and keep smiling as he hugs him from behind, nosing against his neck and slinding a hand down to grab his erection.

Bucky leans his head back, leaving it to rest on Sam’s shoulder. His eyes are half closed and his breath is short. And in a perfect contrast to the sweetness of his touch, of his kisses, of his stare, Sam trims him a string of idiot jokes. About how he drag around his ninety years old ass, about how his bionic arm will rust under the water, about the unorthodox ways he uses to have sex every hour. And Bucky smiles – he lets himself go and just smiles.

And Sam thinks that if the reward is this, well, not having a normal life is not such a big deal.


End file.
